


Nudity is Just a Social Construct

by coolasdicks



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M, Pining, Possessive Spock, Public Nudity, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Showers and Growers, Spock watching solemnly from the sidelines as Jim flaunts dat ass, handjobs, its all dick jokes folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't expect that out of an entire universe, there isn't a planet that is just one giant nudist colony. And you DEFINITELY can't expect Captain James T. Kirk not to invite himself in. (Although you can expect Spock to be disapproving about all of it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nudity is Just a Social Construct

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask where this came from, who I am, or what I'm doing here... just enjoy.
> 
> Shoutout to [warpcores](http://www.warpcores.tumblr.com) for dragging me back into a fandom I thought I'd escaped from. There... might be more fics on the way, we'll fucking see

As far as ‘off the rails’ a mission can go, this type of discourse was relatively harmful. This does not, however, explain why Spock’s heart is currently pounding a meaty rhythm in his side.

He is aware his gaze has been unmistakably glued to the Captain for the last 14.3 minutes, but he reasons that since he is not alone, it will not be noted as out-of-place. Though, admittedly, the other eyes trained on the Captain are merely admiring his physique, nodding and smiling their approval as Jim enthusiastically greets them. Spock follows Jim helplessly, unable to divest himself of his clothes as easily as his Captain had upon learning that it was this planet’s… unique cultural practice to be completely nude.

No – Spock’s unwavering stare is a frustrating blend of bewilderment, wariness, and reluctant anxiety. He does not need to glance over his shoulder to know that his concerns are shared with Doctor McCoy, but Uhura’s intermittent chuckling brings no reprieve to Spock’s growing unease.

“Perhaps we should not be following behind–” Spock begins, but his words are drowned out by a raucous snort from Uhura, who then dissolves into full-blown belly laughter.

At that, Jim turns and grins widely, seemingly ignorant of the fact that even more of his smooth skin is now on display. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Didn’t get a good enough view in the dorm rooms of the Academy, huh?”

Spock’s eyes are automatically drawn downwards, where normally a pair of Starfleet regulation uniform slacks adorn Jim’s waist and legs. Now, however, those pants have been jovially shucked off in the name of cultural sharing, left despondently where they’d been beamed down, against Spock’s protests. In the absence of those crucial black slacks, Spock is granted the bereft knowledge that Jim’s tan does, indeed, spread to the sections of his body that are not exposed to sunlight, against all logic.

It is… most distracting.

Conversation passes without Spock’s input or attention, and Jim turns back away. This, Spock laments, is possibly worse. Without the boxy nature of the Starfleet uniform shirt, Jim’s shoulders are now apparent to be broad, finely muscled and currently slick with a light sheen of perspiration. If Jim twists or bends, to Spock’s quiet horror, his ribs are vaguely visible through the soft skin of his waist. There are two very arresting dimples above the Captain’s buttocks. And below that–

“This is completely unhygienic,” McCoy reiterates as they descend down a small, grassy slope. They’d beamed down in a pleasant field a short walk away from the cluster of civilization, but the greetings of the townspeople had been warm and excited, the people only further enamored when Jim – struck by an unfortunate desire to immerse himself in this world’s societal inclination to avoid clothes – too had stripped bare.

“I find myself unable to disagree with Doctor McCoy,” Spock quickly says. He ignores the doctor’s suspicious glance.

“You two are boring,” Jim brushes off with a flippant wave of his hand. “I wouldn’t expect either of you to have fun off-world, even on an _awesome_ planet like this. I mean–” He gestures rather violently at their guide, a humanoid female. “ _Look_ ,” he adds in a whisper.

“I take it that you imply that you are sexually attracted to our guide,” Spock says, though the admission makes his stomach clench. “I would advise against any pursuing of these urges, however, as–”

“Spock,” Jim interrupts, grin tight as he slows enough to walk next to Spock instead of in front. Spock very carefully keeps his eyes on the path ahead of them. “I got it, yes, _thank you_. I’m just building bridges with the locals. When in Rome, right?”

“We are not in Ro–”

“I swear to god, Jim, if you brush your junk up against something you’re allergic to…” McCoy threatens. Spock identifies both genuine annoyance and worry in the doctor’s voice.

“I mean, can it _get_ much bigger?” Jim says, a large grin spreading across his face.

Spock bites down hard on his lip for exactly three seconds before finding himself unable to restrain himself. “Actually, Captain, as the average penis size of Terrans is approximately 5.1 inches, I believe yours would be classified as subpar.”

Jim stops, jaw dropping – grin not quite fading – but this causes him to nearly collide with Uhura, who does nothing less than snort and push Jim forward. He resumes his pace, but doesn’t break eye contact with Spock.

“I’ve never realized until now that the thing that I _live for_ is Spock saying the word ‘penis’–” Jim says with no small amount of relish.

“It is a rather simple world in the Standard vocabulary,” Spock responses, face carefully neutral.

“–and you know that there’s something called a ‘ _grower’_ –”

“Okay, boys,” Uhura says loudly and comes to walk next to them. She has also kept all of her clothing on her person. It is no surprise that only Captain Kirk has found it necessary to strip nude so immediately upon arrival. “Captain, I would like to remind you that we’re due back onto the Enterprise within the hour, and that transport won’t hesitate to beam you up… as you are.”

The Captain looks at her like she’s betrayed him. “If you’re just going to squash all the fun, remind me why you came?”

“You requested I come,” she replies with a quirked eyebrow.

“Right, for translation purposes,” Jim mutters. “But seeing as they speak Standard–”

“Oh, no,” she interjects, “I am not missing this for the _world_. Right, Spock?”

Not expecting to be drawn so suddenly into the conversation, Spock blinks and drags his gaze up and away. “Yes.”

“He wasn’t listening,” Jim whispers with the obvious intention of Spock hearing.

“I assure you, Captain, I was attentive,” Spock says.

“Captain Kirk?” the guide suddenly turns and smiles. They all stop on the stone steps. Over her shoulder, the town sits nestled under a golden archway. Despite himself, Spock feels his eyes widen.

The city is unarguably beautiful. The grass is plush, vibrantly green, and the architecture is reminiscent of Terran’s Rome era. Spock wonders if Jim had somehow known this, due to his comment about Rome earlier. The people, too, are generally aesthetically pleasing, though they are remarkably different in body than Jim. Due to the constant presence of thick clouds on this planet, their skin has lightened over the generations into a milky, near translucent shade of white. From the sample size in front of them, it seemed that the dominant, if not only, hair color in the gene pool was a rich shade of brown.

It is therefore logical that Jim attracts so much attention.

That’s what Spock tells himself repeatedly as he tries not to hover. Jim’s soft blond appears to be a particular source of interest, but the rest of his body is not spared the abundant _touching_ of which the townspeople seem inclined.

Hands. Hands everywhere.

Jim, for his part, is pink in the cheeks but bright in the eyes. His eye color is abnormal on this world, too, it seemed, because many a time it is requested that he open his eyelids as wide as possible for further inspection. His back is stroked, the faint freckles on his nose and shoulders traced with curiosity, and – the worst by far, Spock thinks – there is no ounce of modesty that Captain Kirk possesses, as he allows all of this without complaint. Particularly, the frequent and unashamed buttock gripping.

“This is completely inappropriate,” Doctor McCoy says from Spock’s right. “They could have any number of STI’s, STD’s, viral or bacterial diseases–”

“Perhaps that is enough to insist that the Captain cease his insistent exposure,” Spock says a bit desperately. He tries not to sound as such.

“Stubborn son-of-a-bitch,” McCoy mutters with his arms tightly crossed across his chest. He rolls his eyes at the sight of Jim flexing a tanned bicep. He does not complete a full orbital rotation, however, as his gaze stops on something near the doorway. “Oh, my god.”

Spock snaps his gaze away from Jim and promptly regrets doing so.

“Lieutenant,” Spock says weakly.

Her brown eyes twinkle, apparently consumed by the same urge that the Captain has been gripped by, as she has taken to undressing, as well. She has kept her undergarments on, something Spock dearly wishes that Jim had done as well, to preserve her modesty.

“What the hell are _you_ doing?” McCoy demands. “Am I the only one who hasn’t gone absolutely insane!”

“As you can plainly see, Doctor, I too have remained fully dressed,” Spock says coolly.

“And thank the heavens for that,” McCoy bites out.

“Oh, c’mon McCoy,” Uhura says, smiling. “They are very respectful, and I, for one, greatly appreciate the irony.”

“Irony, Lieutenant?” Spock says, tilting his head.

“For a woman to be sexualized while _not_ wearing clothes here, but back at the Academy…” She lets her expression speak for itself. Spock does not frown, but he struggles to keep it that way.

“Aboard the Enterprise, do you experience–?”

Uhura cuts him off. “No. Of course not.” She smiles. “Not even from Kirk.”

“I would hope not,” McCoy grumbles. “Just don’t let them touch you, I don’t want to bring back any foreign particles onto the Enterprise. We don’t need another type of influenza spreading around – we _just_ cleared out Sickbay of that nasty Nidorion flu.”

Uhura’s eyebrows rise. She juts her chin towards Jim, who is sitting cross-legged on what has been described to Spock as a ‘bean-bag’ and being petted liberally. “Are you planning on leaving him here, then?”

“I plan on chaining him to a sonic shower as soon as we get on board,” McCoy promises darkly.

Uhura laughs, pats McCoy on the cheek, and saunters into the fray. Luckily, she does not permit touch, but the people of this world seem to take one’s personal space as the utmost importance. Uhura only needs to decline once and they obediently keep their hands to themselves, and after asking if she is comfortable with it, they are thrilled to simply look.

“This is too weird,” McCoy announces and takes a sip of the water in his cup. He grimaces. “Although I certainly wouldn’t say that it’s out of character for Jim.”

Spock cannot find it truthful to disagree.

“At least he’s got us here to keep an eye on him,” McCoy says gruffly, mouth twisting at the sight of a young, bright-eyed female inserting her fingers into Jim’s laughing mouth.

Spock allows himself to outwardly frown. “Indeed.”

\---

They have lost Jim.

McCoy is remarkably more panicked than Spock, but then again, Spock does not display his true emotions as sanguinely as the good doctor. That is not to say, however, that Spock’s virile anger is any less potent.   

They find him, but as soon as they do, Spock greatly wishes they had not.

“No,” McCoy’s jaw drops. “ _No_. You did _not_ –”

“I did!” Jim crows, walking out of the – the establishment with a new swagger in his steps and a new… color of pubic hair. “Look! It’s so cool! I’d’ve never thought of it, but here they dye _everything_ if a fashion trend strikes. Look, they did my armpits, too!”

“ _Jim_ ,” McCoy bemoans. Almost as soon as the tortured expression comes, it is wiped from his face with a livid one. “What the hot hell are you thinking? It – it looks–”

“ _Awesome_? Oh yeah,” Jim trills, using his hands to bracket the decorated area. Spock cannot find any useful contribution to the conversation, so he contents himself with staring at the sight of trimmed, carefully managed groomed hair surrounding the soft flesh of Jim’s sex organs.

“ _Jim_ –” McCoy chokes.

“Oh, c’mon, Bones,” Jim scolds, clapping his friend on the arm. “You’ve seen me naked more often than I’m strictly prepared to admit. My junk is probably as familiar to you as yours is.”

McCoy’s face contorts into disgust. “I’m – ignoring that. Completely ignoring that. You are going to wash that out _right now_. Who knows what kind of crackpot dyes they use here! You could be severely allergic! Where’s my tricorder–”

“Bones, relax,” Jim says, grinning easily. He holds up one arm. There’s a streak of turquoise on the skin there, a horizontal line across his pulse point. “They did a spot-test.”

“And how long did they wait for a reaction, fifteen minutes?” McCoy demands, patting the many pockets of his medical kit furiously. “What if, in two minutes, the skin on your arm breaks out in hives and starts to itch? How is that going to feel on your _groin_ when it finally kicks in down there?”

This obviously did not occur to Jim. For the first time since landing on the planet, a frown, followed by a sheepish expression, crosses his face. Two very interesting spots of pink appear high on his cheeks. Without Jim’s usual apparel covering his body, Spock can see that this vasodilation of the blood vessels also occurs just below his collarbones. Spock desires to know if, pushed further, the flush would continue down Jim’s chest.

“Well,” Jim says, recovering fast, “it’s too late for that, Bones. They said it’s permanent and will last, like, a year on this planet.”

“Which is approximately two point seven Terran years,” Spock says upon finally finding his voice. He has to clear his throat twice after that, and has trouble maintaining proper conversational eye contact with the Captain, as his eyes are continually drawn to the visually fascinating sight of Jim’s originally blond pubic hair dyed a flashy turquoise.

“Don’t think I won’t shave you,” McCoy threatens, and Spock has no misgivings; Doctor McCoy will undoubtedly do so if he feels Jim has threatened his own life with this pointlessly reckless act. When Jim cocks an eyebrow, unperturbed by McCoy’s words, the doctor continues, “I will _shave you,_ goddammit, and then I will scrub the dye from your skin with the roughest sponge I can find.”

Jim grimaces. “Okay, okay, Bones, sheesh. I’m pretty sure it’s not poisonous or anything. Usually a reaction starts by now, right? It’s been half an hour.”

Doctor McCoy’s eyes narrow dangerously, and Spock dutifully steps back to allow the discourse to take place.

As they argue, Spock once again finds his mind wandering, along with his traitorous gaze. He appraises Jim’s physique, noting how tousled and messy the hair on his scalp – thankfully untouched by the eye-sore shade of turquoise – has become after having so many hands run through the strands. Spock feels his fingers itch with the urge to do his own tousling, to craft Jim’s blond locks to a shape his hands, and his hands alone, form. He has to consciously quell the instinct. Even so, a finger twitches.

McCoy keeps a respectable distance – perhaps not for strangers in a communal setting, but for friends of their caliber they are in acceptable range – but the locals had not. Spock takes a measured intake of breath, allowing the surrounding scents to register in his mind. Doctor McCoy carries his usual array of hospital-dwelling scents, and Spock quickly blocks those from his consciousness. Then there is Jim, whose natural scent – the one that Spock’s subconscious has filed away as _T’hy’la_ – is muffled by the revolting smell of _others_.

Spock’s fingers clench. They relax in moments, but even the slight lapse in control has him embarrassed.

Neither the doctor nor the Captain notice, too involved in the rising argument. The whistle of a comm has all three of them blinking.

It is the Captain’s. “Kirk,” says Jim, frowning at McCoy who is studying the turquoise skin of his arm.

“ _This is Uhura. We’re due back on the Enterprise. Where are you?_ ”

“Oh,” Jim says, eyes widening. “Right. Yeah. Sorry, Bones was just – being Bones.” He hesitates. “Where are you beaming back up from?”

 _“If you’re asking if I’m anywhere near your clothes, the answer is no,”_ Uhura replies, amusement evident in her voice even through the communicator. _“And before you ask, yes, I’ve already dressed. Ready to beam up,_ sir _?”_

It’s clearly meant to taunt the Captain. It works, Jim’s cheeks flushing red as he shouts into his comm, “ _No_! No, not yet. I need those pants, I only have a few remaining pairs left.”

For a reason Spock can’t identify, McCoy shoots Spock a suspicious, narrow-eyed look. “Why’s that, Jim?” he says without looking away from Spock.

“They just keep getting mangled on missions,” Kirk answers, still glaring at the communicator in his hands, unaware of McCoy’s clear double-meaning to his words.

 _“What’s your location, Captain?”_ Uhura asks.

“Uh – let’s just come to you,” Jim says with a glance at the building he’d exited, presumably where the dying of his pubic hair had taken place. Spock’s eyes fall to the criminal patch of hair once more.

Uhura reads off her coordinates over the comm before Jim – rather rudely, if Spock has any accurate read of the social flow of the conversation – snaps the device shut. He appears flustered. McCoy seems to reach the same conclusion.

“What, _now_ you’re embarrassed?” Doctor McCoy says in a barking manner.

“Not embarrassed,” Jim says quickly. “Just wishing I’d brought my clothes with me. The constant touching by the locals is getting old.”

Spock could not agree more. “If you were to decline, Captain, I believe they would be more than acquiescent.” Because despite Spock’s misgivings and illogical feelings towards the matter, the people of this world were quite respectful and mindful of personal boundaries.

“Yeah,” Jim says distractedly before abruptly pulling his arms above his head and stretching. Spine popping with the displaced fluid between vertebrae, the Captain’s chest muscles are thrown into greater relief in the dim afternoon light. It’s then that Spock notes that what has been described as Jim’s… ‘happy trail’ has also been touched by the bright color. Jim’s stomach becomes concave with the breathy exhale. Spock swallows.

Jim violently pulls his arms back down to his sides when Doctor McCoy plucks at his colorful underarm hair. McCoy raises an eyebrow. “That looks stupid,” he says disapprovingly.

“I like it,” Jim defends, grin inflating once more.

“It’s not like you have a lot of armpit hair,” McCoy says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe they managed to dye peach fuzz.”

“It wasn’t _peach fuzz_ ,” says Jim.

“Was it your idea or theirs?”

Jim snorts. “Theirs, obviously. Listen, Bones, if I had this idea earlier–”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t want to hear about how much you’ve always wanted a rainbow crotch,” McCoy interrupts, grimacing.

“Perhaps it is best if we begin to proceed to Lieutenant Uhura’s position,” Spock suggests in a voice that is not a suggestion. Both men glance at him before Jim nods and gestures for Spock to lead the way.

He is irrationally disappointed by this.

\---

It is 4.79 Terran months after this incident that Jim and Spock engage in coitus activities. While Spock has not forgotten the planetary excursion, he _is_ surprised to find that Jim’s public hair has softened to a sky blue color.

Jim laughs and runs a nervous hair through his hair. “Uh, yeah – I’d mostly forgotten about that, sorry for the lack of warning–”

“If you will recall, Jim, I was present at the unveiling of your new… hairstyle,” Spock says, but when Jim bites his lower lip in an attempt to hold back a laugh, Spock thinks that perhaps he settled on the wrong word.

“Of course I remember.” Jim’s eyes fall to a half-lidded position, indicating an increase of arousal. This fact is only further proved when the Captain’s pupils dilate. It does not surprise Spock, as they are still poised in each other’s orbit, Spock half-naked and Jim fully nude. “I wasn’t sure if it was in my head or not, but I could’ve sworn you kept looking at me.”

“I am looking at you now, Jim.”

“No, but – _looking,_ ” Jim insists, pulling Spock closer and dropping his eyes to Spock’s chest, his flat stomach. It makes Spock’s heart increase the speed of its rhythmic beats, and his skin temperature raises by .5 degrees.

“If I recall correctly,” Spock says, just barely able to keep his voice even, despite Jim’s sudden take to his neck, teeth dragging across his skin, “there were many eyes upon you that day.”

He can feel Jim’s lips pull into a smile, or maybe a smirk. It is hard to concentrate enough to tell.

“I asked Bones afterwards,” Jim murmurs into the underside of Spock’s jaw. “Asked him if he thought you were _jealous_.”

“If we could refrain from mentioning Doctor McCoy as we approach sexual intercourse–”

“Guess that’s a yes,” Jim says with a bright laugh.

Their mouths are occupied briefly, with things other than talking.

It is 12.3 minutes later that Spock pulls back in confusion, hands dropping away from Jim’s body. “Jim,” Spock says with no small amount of alarm. “You are having an allergic reaction.”

“What?” Jim mumbles into Spock’s shoulder, fingers locked around the back of Spock’s neck. He blinks hazy blue eyes open, lust glazing over his stare. “Hm?”

“You are having an allergic reaction,” Spock repeats, and the genuine panic in his voice must dial back Jim’s lust.

“What? No, I’m not,” Jim says as he reluctantly pulls away; Spock can feel his broadcasted emotions along every point of skin contact – which is a truly copious amount, as they have both undressed and pressed against one another.

“Your sexual organ has swollen to approximately three times its initial size,” Spock croaks, horror coloring his tone against his will. It is impossible to remain unaffected as the realization crashes down on him; Spock had overstepped and initiated skin contact with the delicate organ, and in doing so revealed that his T’hy’la is apparently allergic to Spock himself. Dread fills Spock.

But to Spock’s bewilderment, Jim has begun to laugh. His shoulders shake with it.

“Jim. This is extremely serious. We must locate your epinephrine pen immediately.”

Jim grabs at him when Spock moves to disentangle himself from their close embrace. “No, Spock – no, listen to me,” Jim hastily says, mirth lessening. He clings to Spock with surprising strength. “It’s fine, I’m not having an allergic reaction. It’s supposed to do that.”

Spock pauses. “I am not familiar with that particular function of the Terran anatomy,” he confesses, but relief draws him back into Jim’s warmth. He fully sits back onto the bed and Jim does nothing less than climb him.

“Obviously,” Jim chuckles breathlessly. “What did you think I meant by ‘grower’?”

“I confess that I remained ignorant as to what a ‘grower’ is,” Spock says, very carefully wrapping his hand around Jim’s erection once more. Jim squirms at the light touch, but the flesh in Spock’s hand twitches and swells. “However, I am beginning to understand the common vernacular surrounding Terran anatomical engagement.”

“Anatomical enga–”

Jim’s words are cut off when Spock strokes himself now, with his other hand, bringing his erection to maximum potential, though the size has not changed as drastically as Jim’s human erection. Spock lines up their respective sex organs. He feels that Jim is illogically pleased that Spock is just as large, if not larger, than himself.

“Yeah,” Jim says, words nearly slurred as he gazes down at Spock’s slow-stroking hand. “You’re definitely a ‘shower’.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but in the next few hours he does not get the chance to inquire further.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://www.spiderjockey.tumblr.com) but it's allll Rooster Teeth, bby ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
